


Sweet Wag

by the_alchemist



Category: Henry IV Part 1 - Shakespeare
Genre: Also literal fluff, Alternate Universe - Magic, Crack, Fix-It, Fluff, Gen, M/M, Shapeshifting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-18
Updated: 2019-12-18
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:33:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21852994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_alchemist/pseuds/the_alchemist
Summary: Never annoy a Welsh wizard. Hotspur did, and now whenever he feels angry, he turns into a small, yappy dog. And Hotspur *always* feels angry. All the more so now he belongs to Prince Hal …Like the Incredible Hulk, only furrier, more irritating and from the 15th century.
Relationships: Prince Hal (Shakespeare)/Henry "Hotspur" Percy
Comments: 7
Kudos: 24
Collections: Yuletide 2019





	Sweet Wag

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ConvenientAlias](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ConvenientAlias/gifts).



‘I can call spirits from the vasty deep,’ said Glendower

‘Why, so can I, or so can any man;’ said Hotspur. ‘But will they come when you do call for them?’

_Yes,_ reflected the Earl of Northumberland as he dined with his daughter-in-law later that evening. _Yes, they will._

At first he had been furious to see his son and heir turned into a little white terrier. Later – once it was clear that the condition was somewhat reversable – he had seen the funnier side of it. There had always been something of the little yappy dog in Hotspur.

Now he was beginning to understand the transformation’s strategic advantages. A sapient dog could make an excellent spy, and he was far shorter of spies than he was of angry young men with swords.

And although dog lifespans were typically shorter than human lifespans, they were probably longer than that of a human who cared quite so much about honour, and quite so little about safety.

Best of all, the curse only seemed to apply when Hotspur was angry. In time, that might just mean that the boy would learn to control his temper.

In time.

It – he – stalked around the private dining chamber, periodically stopping to growl or chew the furniture.

Kate reached out and stroked her tiny canine husband. She was a truly remarkable woman, that one. She had taken the whole situation in her stride with forbearance and even calm.

‘You just need to think of it as a battle wound,’ she said, patting his head. ‘Something to be bravely endured and surmounted. You’re good at that.’

She always knew the right thing to say, and her touch seemed to calm him. Slowly, the white fluffy fur began to recede and he began to grow in size. The Earl averted his eyes. This part was not pleasant to look at. When he looked back, Kate had thrown a cloak around her husband’s naked shoulders, and he was resting his fully human head on her lap.

‘So what did you think of our plan?’ asked the Earl. ‘Are you willing to be our spy?’

‘I still don’t see how it’s honourable,’ Hotspur replied. ‘Skulking around the place. Could I not just–’

‘Of course it’s honourable,’ cut in Kate. At the interruption, Hotspur grimaced, and his ears started to change shape. ‘It is a lofty and dangerous undertaking – one that will bring great benefit to our House and our allies.’

At the word ‘dangerous’, one of his little floppy ears twitched in eagerness. But then he began to breathe more slowly and deeply, and they went back to their normal state. ‘I will serve my Lord and father in whatever way honourable manner pleases him best,’ he said.

‘Lady Katherine Percy.’

As the young woman knelt, King Henry sighed, trying to work out what was happening. Earlier in the week, Prince John had brought him intelligence of a planned rebellion in the north, led by Lady Katherine’s brother – Mortimer – and her husband – Hotspur. If it were true, what on earth would possess them to send such a valuable hostage straight into his hands?

‘My liege,’ she said, and bowed her head, ‘I come to you as a messenger, announcing the retirement of my husband from public life. Last week he was struck with a strange and disfiguring sickness, which he sees as a punishment for his over-hasty words and actions.’

Prince Hal snorted. ‘The pox is it?’ he said under his breath.

Lady Katherine appeared not to have heard. ‘He begs your forgiveness for any hurt he may have caused you through his rashness, and begs your permission to lay down his arms and live a quiet and contemplative life.’

‘Please, stand up,’ said the King.

She did so gracefully. The King studied her face, trying to find written there what they were up to, these Percys and Mortimers.

‘Also,’ she continued. ‘He is pleased to send you these gifts from the north, as a sign of his continued loyalty and friendship, and in repentance for any way in which his hastiness may have offended you.’

Gifts were a big part of being a king, of course. _For whoever hath, it shall be given to him, and he shall have overabundance._ These gifts were extravagant. A ruby ring. The Gospel of St Matthew, exquisitely illuminated. A silver box filled with saffron. A white terrier of very good breeding.

He thanked her and sent her away to be his ‘guest’ – certainly, she would not be leaving the Tower until he had got to the bottom of this. Then he doled out the gifts to his sons, charging each of them to carefully examine them for any trick or trap, and to think on what this all might mean.

John would have the ring – he had done good service of late, and it was probably the most valuable of the four. The dog yapped – a very irritating little sound – then broke from his leash, ran up to the throne and pissed on the King’s leg. Hal would have the dog, the King decided, and whatever message he took from that was all to the good.

‘Good boy.’

Hal wasn’t quite sure what message his father had meant to send him by giving him the dog, but he hoped he had defied it by becoming somewhat fond of the thing.

They had been together for a day now, and Hal had decided to call his new friend ‘Sweet Wag’, one of the many nicknames which the old knight had given Hal himself.

The strangest thing was that he felt he had met the creature before, but try as he might he couldn’t remember meeting any dog quite so white or fluffy … or noisy and aggressive. So far it had pissed on his bed and in his shoes, attempted to bite his neck, and yapped itself hoarse. He hadn’t known that dogs could lose their voice, but he was rather glad this one had.

Sweet Wag was not in fact a good boy. But there was something strangely compelling about him. Not just his winsome looks or his boundless energy: something more. If only he could put his finger on it …

‘Come to bed, Sweet Wag.’ Hal shut his bedroom door and stripped down to his shirt. Carefully, he placed the dog beside him on the pillow.

It was infuriating. Everything was infuriating. Hotspur could not remember ever having been so infuriated, and he was by far the most infuriated person he had ever met.

Being short was infuriating. Being unable to speak was infuriating. Having a tail was infuriating, and it was even worse when he felt compelled to snap at the ghastly thing, and it frisked away, so he reached for it, and before he knew what he was doing he was running round in circles, and the infuriating prince was laughing infuriatingly.

What was most infuriating was being patted on the head. Like now. The prince had picked him up bodily (infuriating!), put him on a pillow, and was now sitting up in bed, stroking the soft hair on his scalp and caressing his floppy ears. It sent little shivers of irritation down his spine. Definitely irritation, not pleasure, no doubt about it.

Hotspur felt his eyes closing. It was very tiring, being so infuriated all the time, and the prince was so nice and warm …

It was not the first time Hal had awoken in the night to find a naked man in his room: he had taken lovers of many kinds. The first thing he did was appreciate the view: perfect musculature, golden skin, an unusually non-comic erect penis.

The second thing he did was worry – what could have caused the hole in his memory? He hadn’t even been drunk. And where was Sweet Wag?

The third thing he did was panic. Because as he followed upward to where the penis was pointing, he saw a very familiar – and undisfigured – face. He scrabbled among his discarded clothing for a weapon. ‘Hotspur!’ he said. ‘Afraid to face me in a fair fight, are you? You send your wife to me with lies, then try to kill me in my sleep?’

Hotspur held up his hands, placating. ‘I’m not here to assassinate you,’ he said. ‘Why would I be naked and unarmed if I wanted to assassinate you?’

Hal pondered this. ‘Is it one of those honour things?’ he said. ‘Is there a rule that murdering people in their beds is all right so long as you do it without any clothes or weapons?’

‘No Hal, there’s not.’

It was then that Hal noticed how very not murdered he was, and how very not-about-to-murder-him Hotspur seemed. He had his hunting knife in his own hand and could call to the guards for help whenever he wanted. ‘Then what are you doing here?’ Hal said, though he thought he already began to understand.

Hotspur sighed. ‘Well,’ he said. ‘It’s like this …’

Hotspur was sitting beside Hal on the bed by the time he finished his story. ‘… so we tested it out, and if I tried very, very hard to be calm and happy and not angry, then I turned back into a man. But as soon as I got angry again, it happened.’

Hal looked with compassion at his rival. Hotspur had never been very good at lying, but this was something else. Their arms were touching.

‘It’s all right,’ Hal said. ‘There’s no need for tall stories. I’ve always … well love and hate are two sides of the same coin, aren’t they? _Odi et amo_ , and all that.’ He gave an encouraging nod as Hotspur’s hand reached toward his thigh, only for Hotspur to snatch it away again. ‘Oh, not that I hate you,’ he added hastily. ‘I suppose if anything I thought I envied you – at least in some ways – but now I see I didn’t want to be like you, I just … well … wanted you.’

Hotspur looked … what? Surprised? Embarrassed? He didn’t say anything.

‘So it’s wonderful you feel the same way,’ Hal continued. ‘Though you could have just told me. That would have been better than sneaking about naked in the middle of the night. How on earth did you get past my guards? Why did you bring your wife to London? Couldn’t you have deceived her more easily if–’

Hotspur growled. ‘I would never deceive my wife,’ he said. ‘We have an arrangement.’

He growled again, a different, more animal sound, and then slowly his face started to change, the nose and mouth protruding forward to form a snout, the tip of it darkening. Hal felt his own eyes widen in horror. ‘Wait,’ he said. ‘No. Stop. It’s all right. I believe you.’

* * *

One of history’s most enduring mysteries concerns the eventual fate of Harry Percy, Henry V’s closest and wisest advisor.

In his youth, Harry had something of a reputation as a firebrand, earning the nickname ‘Hotspur’. Contemporary accounts state that his demeanour changed suddenly and significantly in around 1408, after which he ‘nevere shewed one whit of wrath againe’.

One explanation offered for this transformation is that the young Harry had been involved in a plot to take the throne on behalf of Edmund Mortimer, had been captured by the King, and so impressed by the chivalry of the Crown Prince that he recanted from his treachery, and persuaded all his co-conspirators to do likewise.

This experience so sobered him, so the story goes, that he never so much as spoke hastily again. Neither did he take up arms, until the battle of Agincourt, when he rode by his King and friend’s side, fighting as fiercely as a hundred men.

Percy does not appear among the lists of the dead at Agincourt, but neither is he mentioned in the history books again.

An amusing footnote concerns the last will and testament of Henry V, which bequeaths a ‘worthie fiest’ named Hotspur to one Kate Percy, ‘with my most gracious thanks for so gladly sharing that which by the laws of God and man is thine.’


End file.
